


Wasted and Ready

by loveyouallwrong (drunktuesdays)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Drunkeness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunktuesdays/pseuds/loveyouallwrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was cowritten with Fledmusic on LJ.  Based on the equation: Drunk!Patrick + phone calls with Pete = hilarity. With a bi-product of sex. Really schmoopy sex. Written for Bluejbird on LJ.  Love you, Becca</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasted and Ready

Pete is sitting in a booth, in some dark little club, laughing at something or other, when his sidekick goes off. He picks it up without really looking, and snorts a "hello?" into the speaker. Nothing answers him, besides heavy breathing, which isn't without precedence, except for the fact that he'd recognize that breathing anywhere. And wow, he's being creepy, so he flips the phone a way from his ear to double-check, and he's right, it's Patrick. "Dude," he says into the line. "You okay?" There's silence for a minute, and then he hears, "PEEEEEEEETE," right into his eardrum.

Pete winces and holds the phone away from his ear slightly. He thinks maybe Patrick is drunk. No, okay, Patrick is definitely drunk, because now he's saying, "Pete Pete Pete, hi, where are you, why aren't you talking, hi Pete."

Pete grins, because oh man, this is going to be _hilarious_. "Hey man, how's it going?" he asks, making some vague gesture to the people he's sitting with to indicate he's leaving. Drunk Patrick is a rare occurrence, and he's not going to miss out on any of it.

"My face is numb," Patrick says in response and Pete manages to catch a cab while also laughing really hard (silently), which he thinks shows pretty good multi-tasking skills.

"Had a good night?" he asks and Patrick says "yes," in this really serious voice, and it's just so adorable, Pete feels like his face is going to break from trying not to laugh out loud.

"Very...much. Goodness." And then, "Hey Pete," as if something suddenly occurred to him. "Pete. I miss you."

Pete feels a pang in his chest at this, because, God, he misses Patrick so much, and he's been trying not to think about it, but it's just...it's always hard when Patrick goes home. "Yeah, me too," he looks out the window of the cab and bites his lip.

"Hey Pete," Patrick says, apparently oblivious to Pete's teenage girl angsting. "Know what? You should come over. Now. You have to, you have to help me find my hat. I lost it. It's gone. "

"I can't come over," Pete says, practically convulsing. "I'm not in Chicago, dude."

Patrick's not having any of his reason tonight though and says flatly, "That's stupid."

"Agreed," Pete answers him, "You should have stayed in LA with me."

"No," Patrick says, sounding distracted. "LA sucks, and I hate everyone there. Except you. Seriously I cannot fucking find my hat."

"Where did you leave it?" Pete says, attempting to be helpful.

"Like. I think in Nick Scimeca's bathroom. Or maybe in his car. I don't fucking know, but I better find it."

"You went out with Scimeca?" Pete asks, reclining against the seat

"Fucking probably has my hat," Patrick says. "I miss it. It was greeeeeeeen," holding out the syllable for a several beats.

Pete waits, and then says "What color?" and Patrick yells "Green! It's not easy being green!" and he's off singing, and Pete is choking with laughter as Patrick wails the song into the phone.

"Pete," he says, finally pausing to catch his breath. "Pete, I fucking love singing, dude. Like I doooo. I love singing."

Pete is grinning into the phone now, and says, "You made an excellent career choice then, dude."

Patrick retorts, "I made an excellent choice with Pete choosings."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Does. Cause like, I was singing karaoke today, and it was funny because whatever, but it's more better when you're there so fuck you, it doesn't make sense."

Pete cracks up. "Did you seriously just say more better?"

"No," Patrick says. "Pete. Pete. Pete. Pete. Hey. I miss you. Is the point. Like I miss my hat. I really miss my hat and my Pete and whatever, because my head is cold, Pete. You are my hat, and my head is bare without you."

And that is just fucking it, Pete is practically on the floor of the cab, literally gasping for breath as he laughs and laughs, 'cause holy shit, he loves Patrick, and he loves Nick Scimeca for getting Patrick drunk.

When he finally gets a hold of himself, Patrick's huffing into the phone.

"Pete. It was a fucking simile, Pete."

"No it wasn't, it was a metaphor."

"Fuck, whatever. Am I the poet, Pete? I'm not the fucking poet. I just wanted to tell you about my fucking hat, you dick."

"Patrick, Patrick," Pete's laughing still. "Maybe you should go to bed."

"No, you can't make me. What's the other one?"

"What other one?" Pete says, confused.

"The other one. It's like, Pete if your name was Petep, it'd be one. A fucking mirror thing."

"A palindrome?"

"YES." Patrick crows. "Petep, can I call you Petep? Petep, do you think Hemmy watches TV when you aren't home?"

This is seriously the best thing that's ever happened, and Pete wishes he was recording this shit, so he could listen to it all the time, and have everyone else listen to it, and then Patrick would get all embarrassed and his face would turn red, and it would be awesome.

"Yeah, totally," he says as the taxi pulls up to his house and he hands the driver (who is looking at him like he's crazy, but whatever) some cash. "He definitely watches TV. It's always on when I get home. Hemmy's a big _General Hospital_ fan."

He fumbles with his keys, holding the phone in place with his shoulder, and Patrick says contemplatively, "Hmm....I think maybe you're lying. At this moment in time. But, that's okay, I still miss you. And my hat. And things."

Pete finally gets the fucking keys to open the door, and Hemmy runs up to him, making excited little woofing noises and pawing at his legs. "Hemmy says hi," Pete tells Patrick, leaning down to kiss Hemmy on the top of his head, scratching behind his ears.

"Hiiii, hi Hemmy," says Patrick, in a singsong voice. "Hemmy, Hemmy, Hemmy...Hey Pete, my face is numb still. And also, guess what?" Pete makes his way towards his bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights, feeling his way around, his fingertips running over the surface of the wall.

"What?"

"I want to sing you a song. Are you ready? Pete. This is, this is a private concert for you. Okay, are you ready? Are you listening?"

Pete drops onto his bed, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, smiling so hard. "Yeah, I'm listening."

Patrick clears his throat. "Okay. Here it is: RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING RING BANANAPHONE!" Patrick's giggling, really, seriously giggling and Pete is too, and Pete can't remember the last time he laughed this hard.

"No, just kidding. That was...that was just the encore. No, wait, the not encore. The thing at the beginning. Anyway, here's the real song: PETE PETE PETE, I LOVE YOU, YOU HAVE A DOG AND YOU PLAY BASS AND I LOVE YOUUUUU."

"Okay, so that's going on the next record," Pete says, after a minute of gasping for breath, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "It is. I'm going to make you sing that every night in front of a million people."

"You think I won't?" Patrick says belligerently. "Cause I will. I'll sing it. I'll sing it so hard in front of everyone. I'll call it the You Don't Know Shit About Pete song, and I will list all of the things they don't know, like how you are fucking awesome."

Patrick chuckles to himself, and Pete presses the phone even closer to his ear. It goes silent for a few minutes then, both of them just sitting and listening to each other breathe, till finally, Pete says "Hey, you still alive over there?" and Patrick answers relatively calmly. "Yeah, Pete. Hey. Guess what?"

Pete threads his fingers behind his head, phone propped between his ear and the pillow, and says, "What, Patrick?"

Patrick's voice drops an entire octave, and pretty much just travels right to the pit of Pete's stomach when he says, "Pete. I lost my pants, Pete."

The smile totally freezes on Pete's face for a second, and then drops. He laughs a little and says, "Oh dude, you have got to go to bed."

"Am in bed." Patrick says in that singsong voice. "But I'm wide-awake and pantsless, Pete. How about that."

"How about that," Pete repeats. He's kind of at a loss as to what to say here, so he doesn't, just grasps the phone, grips it tight, and waits it out.

But Patrick's an absolute bastard, because that breathing Pete knows enough to recognize? Is speeding up a bit, and getting a little softer, forcing Pete to hold his own to listen. If he were a good person he'd hang up right now. He'd say good night, and mock Patrick in the morning.

"Hey," Patrick says into his ear. "You should lose your pants too."

Pete's not a good person. "Patrick," he says weakly. "I can't."

And Patrick, that fucker, he totally laughs and says "I guess I'll go on without you then," and lets out this breathy half moan. "Hey," he says. "So I'm touching myself, and I'm pretending it's your hand. God I wish you were here. I'd totally blow you right now."

Pete swears, loudly and violently, because seriously, what the fuck is he supposed to do right now?

"You're drunk, Patrick. You don't mean this." He attempts, but Patrick overrides him.

"Was drunk. Not so much anymore."

Pete hears that, and clings to it, and just. Oh God. Fine. He's in. He loses the pants.

Patrick's voice is a little smug when he says "Pete. Pete, I've jerked off to you like a million kabillion times. And now it's like, _oh_, happening, only it isn't a dream." He gasps a little, and it just sends a jolt down Pete's spine, and seriously, _what_.

Maybe he's the one drunk right now. It would explain more about how the hell he went from laughing at Patrick trying to tell a story about Nick Scimeca, to listening to his best friend jerk off on the phone.

He grips the phone in one hand and says "No fucking way," to Patrick, and slides his hand a little faster when Patrick chuckles and says, "Yes way. Since I was sixteen, asshole."

And he doesn't stop there. Pete's not that lucky.

"When you give me lyrics, and I read them. Fuck. I get hard...and I jerk off with your words running through my head."

And Pete moans and has to stop touching himself for a second, because if he doesn't, he's going to come, and he doesn't want this to be over yet. He actually has to sit on the hand that's not holding his sidekick, because Patrick, that asshole, doesn't stop talking.

"It's a thing, when you give me something that works, that clicks, I just. I'm so...I get this, I need to be touched. Am I creeping you out right now?"

Pete clears his throat and manages to choke out, "No, dude. I'm not. I'm not creeped out. It'd be totally hypocritical considering how many times I've jerked off with our songs in my ears. I just. You never said anything." Patrick lets out a little whine then, and Pete nearly twitches off the edge of the bed.

He starts to say something, but Patrick keeps talking, and gasping in between words.

"I just...you're always touching me, on stage and just, all the time, but it's not...you never really _touch_ me, and I...god Pete, I want it so much, I want it to be real."

And Pete can't take it, he didn't _know_, and part of him wants to apologize, but he has to, has to- he wraps his hand around his dick and chokes out "_Patrick_."

And then he's coming, warm on his thigh, and Patrick's breath is hitching like he's close.

When he gets the power to speak returned to him, he grasps the phone with both hands, and says, "It's real. Of course it's fucking real. God we're so fucked up, because the only place you let me touch you like I want to is on stage."

Patrick moans, low and throaty in his ear, and Pete keeps it up, saying "I wish I was there now too, dude. I'd be on my knees for you so fast, you have no idea. God, Patrick, I want to see the way you look when you come."

 

And maybe that's what does it, sends him over the edge because Pete hears him choke out Pete's name, and then there's a few shuddering gasps, and then silence.

Pete smiles into the phone and says "Hey buddy, you gonna make it?"

Patrick just mumbles something, a contented sigh.

Pete says "Oh no, don't you fall asleep, you motherfucker. You can't leave me with that." but it's too late, because Patrick's so gone.

Pete doesn't consider any other form of action besides looking up any and all flights to Chicago.

\\\

By the time he gets into O'Hare, it's morning, and he pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes as he hails a taxi to get him to Glenview. Its obnoxiously bright out, and he's only had airport coffee today, but he keeps up this chant in his head that goes _Patrickpatrickpatrickpatrick_. He has to know. He has to. Doesn't hope, because he's Pete Wentz, and he never gets that fucking lucky, but he wonders.

He gets dropped off at Patrick's place, uses his key for the first time, and lets himself in. And that's how Patrick wakes up, with Pete curled into the curves of the armchair across from his bed, just watching.

Patrick blinks once, twice, and then rubs his eyes with his fists, which Pete thinks is adorable.

"Pete?" Patrick says, and his voice is all rough and sleepy, and Pete can hear the question at the end of that.

"Hi," he says, his heart beating so, so fast, and if Patrick doesn't...if he doesn't want...Pete's not sure he could handle that.

Patrick sits up and fumbles for his glasses (he at least was coherent enough to take them off and put them on the bedside table, that's something). "Hi," he says back, hesitantly, and then there's silence.

"What are you doing here?" Patrick eventually says, and blinks up at him.

Pete's heart drops to the tips of his converses, and he just stands and says, "You called me last night. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Come on dude, I'll get you some aspirin."

He's kind of proud of the way he says it, without letting any of the despair and disappointment he feels drip into the sentence. He even manages a lopsided smile at Patrick, and he gestures at the door and says "Come on lazy ass, what are you waiting for, a piggy back ride?"

Patrick just keeps blinking at him, and says, "No, I know I called you, I remember. You came all the way here, though."

Pete stops. Walking, thinking, breathing, pretty much everything. After a moment, and he's sure he's not going to like, pass out on Patrick's bedroom floor, he manages to speak.

"You...you do?" he asks carefully, careful to keep his face from giving anything away. Maybe Patrick only remembers the first part, and he has no memory of making Pete come so hard he almost blacked out, just from Patrick's voice in his ear.

Patrick just keeps looking at him, and Pete kind of wishes he would stop, it's making him nervous (more nervous).

"Yes, I do," Patrick says, finally, "So again, we're back to the whole 'why are you here' thing."

And shit, Patrick's going to make Pete make the first move.

"I..." Pete starts to say, and really has no idea where to go from there.

But Patrick doesn't let up, just keeps up that wide, unblinking stare, and when Pete gets backed into a corner, he pretty much just starts going with whatever plan his brain can make up in the second or so before he does it.

"The shit you said last night. If that was just the side effects of whatever, you can say it. I get it, I've said a lot of fucked up shit to people before. But I came 'cause I wanted to hear you say it straight to my face. For posterity's sake."

Patrick breaks his stare and a slow smile spreads over his face.

"Say something," Pete says, because seriously, what.

"C'mere," Patrick says, and Pete does, feet moving of their own accord.

Patrick grabs his forearm and pulls him down beside him on the bed, and says "Dude. It wasn't like that. I probably wouldn't have said it if I wasn't trashed, but yeah. I meant it."

Pete can't really help but flail a bit, his hands fisting in the comforter, ghosting over Patrick's thighs, coming up to rest on Patrick's shoulders. Patrick grins and reaches up and wraps an hand around the back of Pete's neck, and pulls him down for a kiss, and hello, this is Patrick's mouth.

Pete gasps, and Patrick uses the opportunity to slide his tongue into Pete's mouth, and oh, god, Pete can't even count all the times he's thought about this, and it's _better_, it's so much better than he imagined. Patrick's being careful, his hand on Pete's neck gentle, his tongue running over the roof Pete's mouth slowly, like, agonizingly slow. Pete grips Patrick's shoulders so hard, he can't, he needs, he needs _more_, and he moves into Patrick's lap, straddling his thighs - oh god, his thighs - and Patrick groans as Pete settles his weight onto him. He bites Pete's lip and _yeah_ that's more like it, but suddenly he's pulling away and Pete needs him back, _now_, and he tries to chase Patrick's mouth with his own, making this pathetic little noise, he knows he sounds ridiculous, but he can't help it.

"Wait, wait," Patrick gasps and places his hands on Pete's waist, steadying him. "Is this...are we going too fast?"

Pete kind of can't help but laugh, if a bit hysterically. "Fast?" he says incredulously. "I think we're about five years too late to be anything but really fucking slow."

And he rolls his hips once, twice, leans down and kisses Patrick's flushed neck, and gently nips at it with his teeth. Patrick tips his head back, and Pete knows a surrender when he sees one, so he makes short work of getting out of his pants and conveniently, Patrick never got his back on last night. They fumble with each other's shirts, and then there's nothing between them, and Pete can't even remember a time when he didn't want this, and it's actually happening, and so when it's finally it's skin against skin, maybe it's his turn to freak out a bit.

Patrick's biting his lip, pushed back against the headboard. "Hey," is all he says, and Pete holds his gaze for a minute, looking for solid ground in all of this. "Hey," Patrick says again. "You don't have to do anything."

And that's all Pete needs, is the thought of this _not_ happening to make up his mind, and he's sliding down Patrick's body, kicking away all the blankets, until he's kneeling between Patrick's thighs.

"Pete," Patrick says again. "I-"

But Pete licks his palm and wraps his hand around Patrick's cock, and that's the end of conversation. He smirks a bit as he watches Patrick throw his head back and thinks, _I did that_.

"You like that?" he asks teasingly, and he knows he's being a bastard, and when Patrick glares down at him, Pete laughs and lowers his head.   
He thinks about making this slow, drawing it out, but it's been too long, Pete's waited for this for years, and he can't bring himself to be that much of a tease right now. So instead he takes Patrick into his mouth, all at once, and smiles around Patrick's cock when Patrick gasps and grips Pete's hair between his fingers.

"_God, Pete_," he gasps, and his voice, the way he sounds...amazed, like he can't believe this is real, is the best thing Pete's ever heard.

He starts to suck, hard, sloppy, and his technique probably isn't the best right now, but Patrick doesn't seem to care. He's tugging at Pete's hair, and _apologizing_, actually apologizing, when he yanks too hard, and he keeps saying Pete's name, over and over again.

Pete thinks he could come, just from this, and then Patrick's saying "Wait, I need...I want...Pete..." and pulls at Pete's hair again, but different this time, he's pulling Pete off of him, and up.

Patrick's eyes are wide, and he's still talking. "Come up here...I want you to kiss me...please, god, I just...your _mouth_," and Pete doesn't need to be asked twice, he moves so fast, and then Patrick's lips are on his again.

They lie like that for a long while, kissing long and sweet, punctuated by short gasps as someone's thigh drags against someone's cock. Pete thinks he could lie there forever, sprawled over Patrick, bracing himself on each side of Patrick's head.

And then the world grounds to a halt because Patrick mumbles into his mouth "thought about fucking you last night," and all Pete can manage is "Oh fuck yes," because, seriously, yes.

And then it's his turn to be flipped on his back, as Patrick moves to rummage through the bedside table. He comes back, and and kisses Pete again, hot and dirty, and wow, that's good too.

Patrick breaks the kiss off to mouth at Pete's neck, and then at each nipple, and Pete sort of wishes he still had the rings in. Thinks about Patrick pulling at them, and okay, so he can't think about that right now, or he'll bust immediately. Patrick's tonguing over the bartskull, and Pete can't help but to arch up, up, up, but Patrick grabs his hips, and holds him down. And then it's a finger pressing there, cold and slick with lube, and fuck, yes.

"Patrick," he gasps out, and there's two, splitting him open and he just can't imagine how he got so goddamned lucky. He moans deep in his throat, halfway sure he's probably just going to die right that second. And then the fingers are gone, and he watches Patrick roll on a condom, and line his dick up with Pete's ass. And then Patrick's over him again, kissing his nose, cheeks, licking into his mouth as he thrusts all the way in.

"Fuuuuck," Pete gasps, and curls his fingers over Patrick's hips, urging for more, more. And Patrick gives it to him, moving again and again, deeper and deeper, hitting that spot that causes Pete to nearly bite through his lip. "Patrick," he says. "Oh God."

And Patrick's pupils are just huge as he looks down at Pete with the kind of awe that makes him want to melt through the bed.

"Love you," Pete says, words spilling from his mouth. "Love you, love you," and he comes right there, without anyone even touching his dick. The words seem to electrify Patrick too, because he goes rigid for a few seconds, swearing and gasping, and then collapses beside Pete, pulling Pete into his arms.

Pete's gasping and he's shaking all over and he would feel completely ridiculous about that, but Patrick is petting his hair back off of his forehead and kissing his face and whispering "you're so...god, Pete, you're so beautiful" and Pete knows he understands.

All he can think is _finally, finally_ and how he never wants to move, ever, except maybe to do it again.

"I think you killed me," he manages after awhile, and his voice sounds like he's forgotten how to talk. Patrick laughs and kisses him, and it's so soft, so sweet, that it makes Pete's heart ache, and he almost can't handle it.

And then, after a moment, like he's maybe hesitating, Patrick pulls away and says "I love you too," and Pete's eyes go wide. Because he knows, he's always known, of course he has, but hearing it is just...it's different.

And then he laughs at himself, because god, he's such a girl, but it's _Patrick,_ and Pete thinks maybe he's allowed. He's going to let himself have this.

"Good thing I was drunk last night, huh?" Patrick says, and Pete laughs, because they're pretty much the most romantically retarded people on the planet, so who knows how much longer this would have taken them if it hadn't been for last night.

"Yeah," he says, as Patrick kisses him again.

"Yeah," Patrick agrees, his breath hot against Pete's lips, and Pete thinks he's finally ready to be happy.


End file.
